


Won't Want For Love

by coloursflyaway



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Dirty Talk, Fluff and Smut, Hand Jobs, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Praise Kink, Public Hand Jobs, Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-06
Updated: 2019-07-06
Packaged: 2020-06-23 12:08:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19701064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coloursflyaway/pseuds/coloursflyaway
Summary: “Angel…”, he mutters so softly Aziraphale almost doesn’t hear him. “Is this some sort of… punishment?”Aziraphale doesn’t answer right away, gives himself a moment to consider it, then slides his hand even further upwards, until he can cup Crowley’s crotch, squeezing slightly.“Yes, I think it is."





	Won't Want For Love

**Author's Note:**

  * For [drphil](https://archiveofourown.org/users/drphil/gifts).



> I asked Jaimie to pick something for me to write, and of course she chose something like public handjobs.

Perhaps he is being cruel, Aziraphale contemplates as he drags his fingertips over the inseam of Crowley’s ridiculously tight jeans. He is self-aware enough to know that cruelty is well within the range of his emotions, and the way the demon next to him draws in a breath, head whipping around to look at him with raised eyebrows, his eyes undoubtedly wide behind those sunglasses, indicates that at least Crowley thinks that he indeed being a little bit sadistic.  
However, it had been Crowley who had started this, had been cruel in the first place, sauntering into the little French restaurant they had agreed on meeting in with a smirk that told Aziraphale he was in trouble long before Crowley even said a word.

“I’ve a little surprise for you afterwards”, the demon had drawled, leaning close enough that his lips brushed against the shell of Aziraphale’s ear. “A pink one, approximately the length of my ring finger, and almost as deep inside of me as I wish you were right now.”  
It had taken Aziraphale a few seconds to make sense of it, some of them most definitely because Crowley was wearing a new cologne, but when he had finally understood the meaning behind the demon’s words, it had taken all the angelic control he had over his blood vessels to keep himself from blushing.  
A plug.

He hadn’t known what to say, and Crowley had chuckled, sat down next to him and delighted in the state of confused arousal he had thrown Aziraphale into, ordering a glass of wine with a smile and a wink at the waitress.  
Crowley had most likely never expected to get an answer to his little confession, just a particularly hard fucking after dinner, but Aziraphale had never really known how to let the other have the last word.  
Which led them here, with Aziraphale’s hand on Crowley’s thigh, slowly inching up, his fingertips brushing across the sensitive inside, and blood still pounding in the angel’s ears.  
This is the only answer Crowley will get, he decides, and it will be one he won’t ever forget.

“You should get some of the quiche, darling”, he tells Crowley pleasantly, once he has regained his voice, his hand close to that magical spot where thigh meets hip. His fingers press harder into the demon’s flesh, knowing that he left bruises there last night, large blooms of red and purple painted across the pale skin of Crowley’s inner thigh. He is rewarded with a hiss, with Crowley’s tongue darting out to lick his lips. “It’s quite marvellous, very buttery, with just the right amount of flakiness to the crust. And I think it would pair fabulously with your Cabernet Sauvignon.”  
“I don’t actually – “, Crowley starts, but Aziraphale just waves his hand dismissively, uses the same motion to gesture to the waitress, who comes over to their table at once.  
“Nonsense, love, I cannot let you starve”, he tells his demon, rubs circles into the bruised flesh. Then to the waitress, “A slice of your quiche, please, and I think a salad to go along with it? But hold the tomatoes, my husband here isn’t very fond of them. And we’ll have the strawberry parfait for dessert, I think. With extra cream.”

Crowley, he is absolutely aware of it, is staring at him, but Aziraphale doesn’t give him the satisfaction of looking back right away, first flashes the waitress a genial smile, watches her leave.  
When he finally does turn his head, Crowley’s mouth is hanging open, his eyebrows curved high above his glasses.  
“Husband?”, he repeats Aziraphale’s words back at him, and again, it’s difficult for the angel to keep the flush from his cheeks.  
“Well, yes. Do you not like it?”  
“No, no, I – I do. Definitely. I do.”

There is a hint of red dusted across Crowley’s face, tinting the tips of his ears and the apples of his cheeks, and it’s only after Crowley has given his answer that Aziraphale realises he has been holding his breath. They never before put a label on what they are to each other, yet this one seems to fit them perfectly.  
“That’s settled then. Perfect. Husband.”  
He gives Crowley a smile, one that might be a bit more beaming than intended and gets one in return that seems to illuminate the whole of the demon’s face, seems to overtake his entire body.  
“Yeah. Great. Husband.”

There is a moment of silence, in which the bustle of the restaurant around them seems to fade away, but then Crowley shifts ever so slightly, causing Aziraphale’s knuckles to brush against his cock, half-hard in the confines of his jeans, and the lust hits him so suddenly it almost feels like it never went away.  
Because there is still a plug inside of Crowley, just waiting for Aziraphale to pull it out and replace it with his cock, and because he needs Crowley to feel just what it is he does to him.

Again, Aziraphale tightens his fingers, makes them dig into Crowley’s thighs, and the demon’s mouth goes slack, the flush on his cheeks intensifying.  
“Angel…”, he mutters so softly Aziraphale almost doesn’t hear him. “Is this some sort of… punishment?”  
Aziraphale doesn’t answer right away, gives himself a moment to consider it, then slides his hand even further upwards, until he can cup Crowley’s crotch, squeezing slightly.  
“Yes, I think it is”, he declares brightly, dragging his thumb slowly across Crowley’s cock, putting just enough pressure into the touch to make the demon’s fingers clench around the edge of the table. “You have done everything to earn it after all.”  
Crowley just groans in response.

Aziraphale pulls his hand away, but just for a moment before he returns it, fingers following the path of Crowley’s zipper, teasingly flitting across the fabric. He can feel the demon grow harder at his touches, and although it is not the first time, might not even be the thousandth, it’s still an exhilarating feeling.  
Ideally, he’d like to watch Crowley’s cock swell up for him, see proof for what his ministrations do to the other, but there’s no way to do so, not when they are still so very much in public, his hand just so hidden under the table.  
“Be a dear and spread your legs for me”, he instead asks Crowley softly; it only takes a moment for the demon to comply and give Aziraphale more room to torture him.  
“That’s beautiful, thank you”, he praises, and feels Crowley’s cock twitch under his fingers. He traces the outlines of it through the demon’s jeans in response, rubbing the pad of his thumb over the head. “Now, tell me how does that thing inside you feel? Does it keep you open enough that I’ll be able to just slide into you when we get back to the shop? Or will I have to stretch you open around my fingers anyway?”

Crowley’s mouth has fallen open at the words, his breath coming in huffs, and Aziraphale delights in it, a little supernova born every time the demon reacts to him like this. In all his time on Earth, he hasn’t found a single thing more satisfying than pleasing Crowley, making him smile, laugh, come.  
And by now he has found out just the right ways to do all of it, the praise that Crowley craves and yet can’t ask for, the hidden spots of his body he likes to have touched, the best way to drive him insane without doing very much at all.  
So, he rubs his thumb across the head of Crowley’s cock once more, listens to him inhale sharply, because the friction of the coarse fabric of his jeans must be just close to too much against his sensitive skin.  
“Well?”

“It’s – it’s large enough for that”, Crowley finally answers, after a few more seconds, and his voice is beautifully rough, the sound of it going straight to Aziraphale’s own cock. “I picked it thinking about that, about you just – taking me after we get home, against the wall, or the door or bending me over a chair…”  
“And you would like that? Better than me taking you to bed, making love to you properly?”, Aziraphale asks, and cups his hand over Crowley’s cock again, squeezing it. It earns him a half muffled moan, Crowley’s hips jerking up into his touch before the demon can compose himself once more. “Do you want me to be a little bit rough with you? Is that why you told me about the plug, so I’d be desperate for you later?”  
Again, Aziraphale squeezes, starts to massage the demon’s cock through the fabric of his jeans properly, and Crowley nods, biting at his lips to stifle a moan. Aziraphale can’t suppress a smile, bright and kind.  
“Oh, darling, you know that I cannot deny you anything.”

It’s both the truth and anything but that – there have been whole days, weeks even, that they spent in bed together and in which Aziraphale taunted and teased and denied Crowley his release until the demon was reduced to tears, to sobbed out pleas, and yet the very act of denial was to indulge Crowley, who, as Aziraphale was blessed enough to learn, wants nothing more than to be taken apart.

“As soon as we get back to the shop, I shall shove you against the nearest wall”, he tells Crowley pleasantly, forcing his voice not to give away how much he likes the thought of pressing himself against Crowley’s back, slotting their bodies together in the way they were always meant to. “I will have you naked, and I will make you spread your legs, just like now. But I will ask you to make sounds for me, all those you can’t let out now, because you know I love your voice so very much. Especially when it moans my name.”  
Crowley is fully hard by now, his fingers so tight around the edge of the table that his knuckles are stark white against the pink of the rest of his skin, his whole body tensed up as to prevent himself from giving away what is happening under the table. Still, Aziraphale can hear the sounds the demon would be making in his mind, the tiny gasps and soft sobs and that alone is enough to make his cock harden further.

“Say my name, love”, he tells Crowley, leans in to press a small kiss to the corner of the demon’s mouth, just a tiny show of affection, but enough to make Crowley whimper.  
“Aziraphale, _please_ ”, he gasps out finally, his voice beautifully strained, and Aziraphale wishes he could kiss him properly, lick into his mouth until Crowley was the only thing he could remember ever tasting. But not here, not now.  
“Yes, my darling?”, he asks instead, feigning innocence while he rubs circles across the shaft of Crowley’s cock with his knuckles. Even through the fabric, he can feel the heat of Crowley’s skin, the pulsing of his flesh as Aziraphale teases, and Crowley takes, just takes it, so beautifully.  
“Please, just touch me.”

He could be merciful, but it’s just then that the waitress is returning with their food, and Crowley is just a little too good at pulling himself together. Aziraphale will have none of it.  
“Why, that is what I am doing, is it not?”, he asks back, squeezes the other’s cock hard, making Crowley jump a little in his seat, knees knocking against the table. “If you want something, you should ask me for it. Quickly, too, otherwise I might be too occupied by this delicious coq au vin to give it to you.”  
The waitress, who is busy arranging the plate in front of Aziraphale shoots them a confused look, while Crowley looks horrified; Aziraphale gives him a little nod just to assure him that he has understood his instructions correctly.

The flush on Crowley’s cheeks deepens to the loveliest shade of red, but he leans in towards Aziraphale anyway, so far that maybe, just maybe, the waitress won’t hear him, even as she is putting his own plate in front of him.  
“Please, angel, I need you to touch my cock.”  
Of course, Aziraphale could be pedantic, force Crowley to be even more explicit, but he decides against it, partly for the demon’s sake, and partly his own. There is hardly anything he wants more than to get his hands on Crowley’s skin, feel it hot and smooth against his fingers, watch the other fall apart.

So, he waits until the waitress has left their table, giving them one more suspicious look, before he undoes the button of Crowley’s jeans, then pulls the zipper down. Even an action so small draws a sigh of relief from the demon’s lips.  
With his other hand, Aziraphale picks up his fork, stabs a piece of carrot, pretending for everyone who might be watching to have nothing on his mind but his meal.  
“Well, darling, won’t you eat?”, he asks Crowley, when he makes no attempt to do the same.  
It’s only when the demon takes his own fork into trembling fingers that Aziraphale eases his hand into Crowley’s jeans, enjoying the smoothness of Crowley’s skin against his.

A sharp hiss rewards him when Aziraphale wraps his fingers around Crowley’s cock, freeing it from its confines; when he looks over at the demon, Crowley looks as if he is about to scream. His cheeks are flushed, his fingers so tight around the fork and the edge of the table, Aziraphale is surprised he hasn’t broken either of them yet, and suddenly it’s not enough anymore.  
“Take off your glasses, love”, he tells Crowley and slowly strokes down his cock; he knows that the demon’s eyes must flutter shut behind those dark lenses, and he _needs_ to see.  
“Angel, there’s people around, they’ll see too.”

Crowley’s voice is broken, bruised, the hint of a hiss hiding behind them like there always is when he is trying his best not to lose control. And he’s right, there are people who will see, but Aziraphale can’t remember ever caring about anything less.  
Again, he gives Crowley’s cock a stroke, twisting his wrist just so when he reaches the head, and this time the smallest of sounds escapes the demon’s lips. It’s soft and hoarse and Aziraphale knows he’ll keep it stored away in his memory forever.  
His demon, almost coming apart because of a few touches, a few words, because of him.  
“I know, darling”, he tells Crowley, spears a small bite of chicken on his fork while he sets a rhythm with his hand, slow, torturous strokes that will do nothing but keep Crowley wanting. “I said, take off your glasses.”

It takes a moment, maybe two, then Crowley sets down his fork, so he can remove his glasses, his hand trembling as he does so. Behind them, the pretence of human irises has been abandoned in favour of concentrating on not moaning out loud, so his eyes would be all gold, the way Aziraphale likes them best, if his pupils weren’t blown so wide with lust, with desire.  
There is nothing Aziraphale can do to stop the groan from falling off his lips; Crowley’s cock twitches in his hand in response.

“You are so very precious to me”, he tells Crowley, watches those honey-sweet eyes flutter shut for a moment, before Crowley forces them open once again. “And I think, of all the angels our Lord has created, She must love me most, because She gave you to me. I will never stop thanking Her for it, because you are the greatest gift anyone could ever have received.”  
He gives the demon a loving smile, even while he tightens his grip around Crowley’s cock, starts stroking him just a little bit faster, flicking his thumb across the slit with every upstroke. His other hand brings a bite of the coq au vin to his lips, yet even if he knows it’s delightful, he hardly tastes it.

Crowley does the same, as if he’d been prompted, and it’s a most devious pleasure to see him struggle to keep calm, not just thrust up into the loose circle of Aziraphale’s fingers.  
“I know I brought you here because I enjoy the food so much, but truth be told, darling, the only thing I want to taste right now is you. The salt of your skin, your breath on my lips, the bitter taste of your seed, I want it all. And once we get home, and I have pushed you against the wall, I will have my fill of you. I will fuck you just the way you want me to, and then I will take you to bed and do it all over again, but this time, the way I want to have you.”

No matter how much self-control the demon has, this time a moan escapes him, not loud enough to be heard at the other tables over the bustle of the restaurant, but just enough to echo in Aziraphale’s chest, fuel the lust burning inside of him.  
Crowley’s cock is hot in his hand, and when he strokes his thumb across the slit of it the next time, it comes away slick with precome. Again, Aziraphale tightens his grip just a little, feels Crowley’s whole body jerk beneath him at the next stroke.  
“I’ll put my mouth on every inch of your skin”, Aziraphale continues, lets his eyes drift from Crowley’s shaking, blushing form for a moment so he can scan the rest of the sitting room; no one seems to have noticed what is going on yet, which is mostly a relief and only a little bit disappointing. “Until I can’t remember any taste but yours, until you don’t know anymore if you want to beg for more or for me to stop. I will make you come on my tongue, my fingers, my cock, because you deserve nothing but the most sublime pleasure in the whole universe, and you’ve blessed me with the chance of giving it to you.”

He takes another bite of his food, once more hardly tasting it; Crowley has stopped even trying, has bent the fork in half beneath his elegant, clenched fingers.  
“Angel, _please_ , anything, just – “, he breathes out, past the point of forming proper sentences, and this time, Aziraphale shows mercy, picks up the rhythm of his strokes until Crowley can’t keep his eyes open any longer, losing himself in the feeling. He’s beautiful and Aziraphale’s cock twitches in his pants with the need to claim him, to feel him tremble beneath him, clutch to Aziraphale’s shoulders like he’s the only thing keeping the demon from falling apart.  
“Anything for you, my heart”, he tells him and means every word of it. “This isn’t enough for you yet, is it? Let me make it better, let me take care of you.”

It takes but a thought and then suddenly, Crowley’s hips stutter as they try to decide if to thrust up into Aziraphale’s hand, still stroking him with singular intent, or grind down against the plug buried deep inside of him, which has just grown to twice its original size. He’s stunningly beautiful, every muscle tensed, like the strings of a guitar only Aziraphale is allowed to play, his eyes clamped shut and his teeth digging deep into his bottom lip to keep Crowley from screaming as Aziraphale pushes him over the edge.

His cock twitches in Aziraphale’s hand, spurting ropes of come, coating the angel’s fingers as he tries to catch them. Still, his eyes never once leave Crowley’s dear face, his lips being bitten bloody as he comes for everyone to see, hips stuttering, fingers breaking the fork in two with a snap as Aziraphale milks every last bit of pleasure from him, not stopping until the soft whimpers coming from Crowley are from overstimulation and nothing else.

A few moments pass until Crowley’s eyes flutter open once more, the pupils still blown wide, but his gaze softer now. He’s looking at Aziraphale like has never seen him before, speechless, breathless, and the angel just smiles at him, leans in to press the shortest of kisses to his lips.  
Crowley tastes like blood, but only for a moment, before the angelic touch heals his broken skin.  
“You really are something else, angel”, Crowley breathes out, and his voice is still in tatters, hoarse and utterly beautiful.  
Aziraphale laughs softly in response, then, slowly, with one last stroke that makes Crowley shudder, lets go of the demon’s cock.  
“I could say the same thing about you.”

They just look at each other for a moment, wrapped up in a bubble of nothing but happiness, nothing but love, but then Aziraphale looks away, catches the gazes of a young couple, who clearly have been watching them. A second passes in which he feels himself blush, but then there is something else, something that burns inside of him, possessive and proud and white-hot.  
He raises his hand from Crowley’s lap, not even trying to cover up the fact that his fingers are sticky with semen and looks back at the demon.

His cock twitches in his pants, the lust washing over him almost overwhelming as he taps one of his fingertips against Crowley’s healed lips.  
“We are being watched. Be a dear and clean my fingers off for me.”  
At least three things happen at once: Crowley’s lips fall open in shock, just perfect for Aziraphale to slip his finger into his mouth, a blush blooms across the demon’s face, so deep and perfectly lovely that Aziraphale can’t help but smile at him, and there’s a twin gasp of shock coming from the table of the young couple.  
Aziraphale relishes in all of them, but none of them as much as Crowley’s tongue slowly swirling around his fingers, cleaning off his own come from Aziraphale’s skin, even as his cheeks burn bright scarlet.

“You’re so perfect for me, darling”, Aziraphale says softly, presses down a little on Crowley’s tongue, feeds him more of his fingers as the demon’s lips part wider. Even without looking down, he knows that Crowley’s cock must be struggling to get hard again. “Just for me. I want all of them to know that you’re all mine, just like I’m all yours.”  
This time, he feels the moan in his fingertips even before he hears it.

Part of him wants to let Crowley continue to suck on his fingers, feel that clever tongue lave around the digits, but the larger part knows that they shouldn’t cause even more of a commotion if they ever want to come here again. So, Aziraphale pulls his fingers from Crowley’s mouth, leaving his lips swollen and wet, leaves himself desperately hard in his pants.  
But it will be sweeter for the wait, he just knows it, as he wipes the saliva off his fingers with a napkin, picks up his fork once more.  
“Do eat up, husband”, he tells Crowley, enjoying the feeling of the title rolling off his tongue just a little more than he should. “We still have dessert to get through before I can take you home and make good on all I promised you.”

There is a half-muttered curse coming from Crowley, then the scent of miracles in the air as the demon wishes himself back into a presentable state, his pants clean and the fork whole once more, but he does as he is told anyway.  
Underneath the table, Aziraphale feels a foot nudge his own, just a little sign of affection; he gives it right back by putting his hand on Crowley’s arm, squeezing softly.  
“You’ll be the death of me, and you won’t even need holy water for it”, Crowley tells him, but there is a smile in his voice, on his lips. He looks the way he has always looked, utterly in love, and Aziraphale feels his heart swell inside his chest, full of warmth, affection, devotion.  
“I know”, Aziraphale answers, then adds, “I love you, too.”

If he winks at the young couple when he turns back to his food and finds them still watching across the restaurant, it’s something Crowley never has to know. 

**Author's Note:**

> In case you want to say hi, send me a prompt, or tell me something nice, you can find me on Tumblr here:  
> [X](http://www.coloursflyaway.tumblr.com)


End file.
